


When the Levee Bakes

by Palebluedot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (heavily implied), Baker!Dean, Bakery!AU, Biker!Cas, Destiel - Freeform, First Meeting, M/M, customer!cas, dean is confronted with a very pretty boy, getting them together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 03:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Dean owns a bakery and a really, really attractive customer catches his eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Levee Bakes

**Author's Note:**

> Written at midnight and edited in the light of day.

It’s only been Thursday for a few hours, but Dean’s already hard at work preparing for the day. Sure, it’s not like the streets are flooded with people in search of baked goods at 4 in the morning, but within a few hours they sure as hell will be, and if Dean doesn’t have enough pastries and coffee to go around, the commuters may actually riot.

 _When the Levee Bakes_ never has any difficulty getting customers; the bakery’s only a stone’s throw away from a bus stop in the heart of the city – the ideal location to snag the attention of passersby in three-piece suits with Very Important Meetings to fuel up for, and the nearby campus ensures that there’s never a shortage of caffeine-starved college kids stumbling through Dean’s doors.

And, c’mon, who _wouldn’t_ wanna check out a bakery whose name’s a reference to a Zep song? Not anybody worth serving, that’s for damn sure.

Right around 5:30, Dean pulls a tray of lemon poppyseed muffins out of the oven and sets them neatly in the display case. After a moment’s consideration, he goes ahead and snags one for himself because fuck it, he owns the joint, and they smell _good_. Besides, he’s plenty stocked for the day and won’t be baking anything again for awhile, so it’s not gonna be a hygiene issue. Muffin in hand, he heads out into the dining area, unlocks the door, plops himself down at the table in the back, and takes a moment to enjoy his last minutes of solitude before the breakfast rush at 6:00.

Just as he’s got his mouth stuffed full of warm, lemony goodness, the door opens, and in walks a goddamn _Adonis_.

Dude’s wearing way too much leather to be legal, with his jet-black jacket highlighting that lean, trim waist, those completely _unfair_ fingerless gloves, and sturdy, lace-up boots going halfway to his knees over well-worn stonewashed jeans. To make matters worse, the guy’s got a motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, and his hair clearly never got the memo that it was now in full view of the public and really ought to make an attempt to lay flat. It’s sticking up like somebody just ran their hands through it, pulled at those dark strands, making the man who owned them whimper and moan and –

“…Are you open for business?” It sorta takes Dean an embarrassingly long time to realize that the deep, gravelly, fuckin’ _perfect_ voice that just rumbled through the shop belongs to the guy he was just thinking some very, _very_ bad thoughts about.

Hurriedly swallowing his mouthful of muffin, Dean nods, and jumps back over the counter like the true professional he is. He quickly throws out his disposable gloves and pulls on a new pair, the thin plastic snapping around his wrists. Swiping a tongue over his teeth and hoping like hell he hasn’t missed any poppyseeds, he turns around, and _fuck_ , Hot Guy’s all but materialized by the register.

Turns out he even smells nice, like leather and rain and - _focus, Winchester_. “Uh, what can I get ya?”

“Just a coffee, please,” Hot Guy says, making a lot more eye contact than is entirely necessary for a simple coffee order, staring at Dean like he’s the only thing in the world, and Dean thinks he may actually faint. “Black.” Not breaking eye contact, he absently licks those ridiculously kissable, thin, pink lips, and it's official - this is how Dean's life ends. But, death by overwhelming attraction isn't that a bad way to go, all things considered, so he makes his peace with it.

“To go?” Dean asks, definitely _not_ staring right back into the dude’s eyes. Hot Guy nods, not even blinking. “Yeah, sure, comin’ right up,” he says, yanking himself away from gazing at sheer perfection, and more towards the direction of the coffee machine. Thank God he put on a fresh pot not long ago. He grabs a cardboard cup, fills it, and, just as he’s putting on the lid, he's stuck by an idea. Possibly the best damn idea he’s ever had in his life. He plucks his pen from behind his ear and scribbles a few quick words on the outside of the cup before turning around and setting it on the counter by the register.

Hot Guy pays with a five, and when Dean hands him his change – _holy fuckin’ shit_ – their fingers brush for the briefest of moments, and Dean swears he’s seeing fireworks. “Have a nice day,” he manages, fairly certain his voice has risen about two octaves.

“Thank you.” Hot Guy picks up his coffee, starts heading out the door, then stops dead in his tracks when he’s halfway to the street. He glances down at the cup, and Dean knows just what he’s looking at – _The name’s Dean_ written in pen, just above a ten-digit number. Dean very deliberately pretends to be busy with the register, but can’t hide his grin when Hot Guy turns back around, eyes sparkling a little (sweet _Jesus_ , Dean needs to make them do that again), the corners of his mouth softly tilting up in a stupidly endearing smile.

“Hello, Dean.”


End file.
